


Wishing for Swords

by doomcanary



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Kid Fic, M/M, Time Travel, Yuletide 2008
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-20
Updated: 2014-03-20
Packaged: 2018-01-16 08:23:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1338649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomcanary/pseuds/doomcanary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin needs to find something that's been lost a long time. He finds something else along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wishing for Swords

Merlin tiptoes down the empty corridors of Camelot, pulling his dark green cloak tighter about him. It's vital that nobody sees him and recognises him; he's out of time, and if he's recognised now, his future self will be up to his neck in trouble when he arrives at Camelot for the first time. Three corridors away behind him, a pulsing blue-white flicker outlines an irregular doorway, like a standing stone, cut into the wall. The shield he's looking for has been lost for over twenty years; Merlin thinks he might know why.

“What are you doing?” says a voice behind him. “Are you the Yule elf?”

Merlin freezes. It's a child's voice, high, but there's an imperious edge to it that makes his spine crawl.

“Where's your goat?”

Unwillingly, Merlin turns round, making sure his hood's well over his face.

“You _are_ the Yule elf,” says the child. It's a boy, wearing a long nightshirt, and dragging a battered old blanket behind him with one hand. He has a shock of fine, incredibly shiny blond hair. His spine was right; it's Arthur.

“Yes, I am,” says Merlin. “I left my goat in the stables.”

“Aren't you supposed to be older?”

Arthur's definitely Arthur already, even aged about six.

“I can be as old as I like,” says Merlin. “I'm magic.”

“Prove it.”

“Why?”

“Because I'm the prince and I say so.”

“Oh, prince, is it?” says Merlin. “And what do princes wish for at Yule?”

“I want there to be a queen to look after me,” says Arthur. “But Father says there won't be, ever, so I wished for a nice sword instead.”

It crosses Merlin's mind that he could say “Well, maybe if you were less rude to the Yule elf you might get what you ask for”. But Arthur's blue eyes are perfectly serious, and fixed on him with a stare that's remarkably penetrating for such a young child. He'd never really bothered asking the adult Arthur what he thought about his mum; he's so used to having his own mother around it had never occurred to him.

“A sword?” he says. “Hmmm.”

He presses the palms of his hands together, reaches into himself, and draws them apart; and the image of Excalibur from his memory coalesces in the air, a miniature copy, fit for a miniature prince.

Arthur gives a childish gasp.

“You really are magic,” he says. He looks from Merlin's face to the sword, obviously desperate to ask for it.

Merlin grins, and makes himself older; his face wrinkles, and a long white beard spreads down the front of his cloak.

“Told you so,” he says.

He goes over and kneels down in front of Arthur, offering him the tiny sword on his arm, in proper chivalrous style.

“This is a fairy sword,” he says. “It will vanish at sunrise. Play with it now.”

“All right,” says Arthur. Then he straightens himself up and says “Thankyou.” It's the exact same tone he says it in as an adult; polite, and dreadfully well-bred. The etiquette masters started him young, then.

“You're welcome, Arthur,” Merlin says. Arthur smiles, but he doesn't ask how Merlin knows his name. Magic is magic; if Merlin's the Yule elf, of course he does.

“I have to go and give other people their wishes now,” says Merlin. “Go and play in your chambers, and quietly, so nobody hears.”

“I'm going to the tower,” says Arthur. “I brought a blanket.”

“All right then,” says Merlin. “Off you go.”

Arthur's bare feet patter away on the stones, the moonlight catching glints of silver from the little Excalibur, and softer ones from Arthur's hair. Arthur vanishes round the corner, and Merlin hears a door open and close. The white beard vanishes, back into his chin, and he feels his body straighten up again.

As he goes down the long staircase towards the armoury, Merlin reflects that Uther was right, for once; there's never going to be a queen to mother Arthur. Arthur will be wishing for swords all his life. Until the day he has one, and wishes instead for a reason not to use it. That's exactly what he'd said, eyes tired and shoulders bowed, just before Merlin walked through the glowing gap in the world that led here. It was Yule there, too; a black sky full of piercing white stars, and the knowledge of battle to come. But when he slips back through the blue-white door, carrying the shield, he steps out into a blue-grey dawn.

 

 

“Funny,” says Arthur, as Merlin buckles Excalibur around his waist, barely an hour after his return from Camelot past. Merlin's not his servant any more, but he still likes to help Arthur dress for battle.

“What?” he asks.

“Every time I look at that sword, I could swear I've seen it before,” says Arthur.

“Oh?”

“I always used to wish for a sword when I was young, from the Yule elf. I once dreamed I met him, and he gave me one. I'm sure it looked just like this."

"Really?"

"Oh yes. I spent all night playing with it on the top of the south tower.”

“Sounds like you,” Merlin smiles.

“I even woke up there; gave myself a shocking cold. Father was furious.”

“Well, maybe you should have been more polite when you asked for it,” says Merlin. “Magic's a funny thing.”

“It was just a dream, Merlin,” says Arthur.

“I've met the Yule elf,” says Merlin. “Are you sure about that?”

“Don't be ridiculous,” says Arthur. But he sounds half-intrigued, as if part of him wants to believe what Merlin said.

“We are ready to ride, sire,” says Galahad, appearing in the opening of the tent. Merlin gives Arthur's sword belt a final tug, and steps back. Arthur looks at him for a moment, and gives a nod of thanks. Merlin follows him out of the tent to where the horses are waiting, breath steaming in the cold. He mounts up, and rides by Arthur's side.

Camelot never did have a queen in the end; Uther died as lonely as he lived. But for all the battles and heartache and wishes that won't come true, there is someone who loves Arthur, and looks after him. That much Merlin knows. And after what he saw last night, that someone loves Arthur more now than he ever did before.

**Author's Note:**

> The Yule elf comes from Scandinavian folk tales and still turns up at Christmas festivals there, in place of Santa. He really does have a goat.


End file.
